


This Is Me Trying

by cairparavels



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Confused Aaron Hotchner, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Happy Aaron Hotchner, Hotch closes himself off to everyone for a long time, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Idiots in Love, Insecure Aaron Hotchner, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, I’m just here for a good time, Jack Hotchner - Freeform, Jack Needs a Hug, Jealous Aaron Hotchner, Love Confessions, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Romantic Fluff, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed, Song: Friends (Ed Sheeran), Song: this is me trying (Taylor Swift), but I am a Pisces and I think hotch deserves a nice love story, folklore/evermore easter eggs, hotch doesn’t realize he’s in love and thinks he and reader are just great friends :), hotch is Trying to love again but he’s scared, hotch is fond, hotch would tear down mountains for the reader but thinks that’s just what being buddies is, im not a therapist and i haven’t even finished my first watchthru of cm, reader has a cat and wears cute sweaters, reader slowly becomes a staple in hotch’s life, so this might be canon divergent in the slightest of ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairparavels/pseuds/cairparavels
Summary: I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about that. Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down. And maybe I don't quite know what to say, but I'm here in your doorway.-Aaron Hotchner struggles to love anyone after his wife dies. Jack’s grief counselor makes it easier.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch finds a new grief counselor for his son.
> 
> Introduction to the reader’s life and work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.” — Emily Dickinson

J.J. drops a pamphlet on Hotch’s desk. He’s seen it before: the bright orange letters in abhorrent font. It’s grief counseling for children. The pamphlet J.J. gives out whenever they have a case where a child loses their loved one. It just so happens that this child is now Jack.

Hotch sighs. “He’s talking to someone.”

J.J. has her own sigh to combat his. “These guys are trained specifically in helping children cope with their grief in a child-friendly way. You mentioned Jack was still having nightmares, still sleeping in your room, and still wetting the bed.”

“He's been going to his current counselor for the past eight months,” Hotch says. “I can’t change his routine on him.”

“So add to it. These counselors will work with his current one to get a good rapport going. I think this could really be good for him.”

Hotch goes home with the pamphlet in his bag. It isn’t until Jack wakes up from yet another nightmare that he actually decides to call.

-

Eden Counselling is a well-known place in Hotch’s line of work. He’s never been inside, though, so he’s surprised at the fuzzy orange carpet and overflow of toys in random sized bins. There’s a train printed rug on the floor, and beanbags instead of chairs. 

For an FBI funded building, it’s chaos.

Hotch signs his name at the front desk. He lets Jack grab a toy while he checks his phone for emails. The speakers overhead are playing some song from the nineties, and it brings some wave of nostalgia into Hotch’s chest. Like a wave, it suddenly knocks him over, leaving him to fight this new feeling while standing perfectly still in a waiting room.

The door to the back rooms opens, and someone steps out.

You're younger than him, but not too much. Hotch notices your obnoxiously green sweater covered in a pattern of daisies. It’s happy and bright and way too exciting for grief counseling.

“Jack Hotchner?” you call, eyes already on the boy in question.

Jack turns at his name and holds up the plastic dinosaur he’s already found in one of the bins. “Can I take this with me?”

“You may, thank you for asking,” you reply. “Let’s go to my office so I can ask you and your dad some questions.”

Hotch averts his eyes when you look at him, and focuses on Jack. “Let’s go, Buddy.”

If he thought your sweater was too bright, your office is even worse. It’s got a neutral grey carpet, but it’s mostly covered by a plush purple sofa and a coffee table with rounded edges.

In addition, there are muted green shelves with things like plushies, bead mazes, and picture books. Jack silently points to one of the plushies, and you tells him its name. The walls are covered in drawings and academic certificates. 

Hotch sits on the sofa. There are throw pillows that look like flowers, and Jack crawls onto the sofa and hands one to Hotch.

“Okay,” Your hands together softly, your charm bracelet jingling. “My name is ___. I’m here to talk about your feelings.” You’re addressing Jack, squatting down and maintaining eye contact with him.

It’s actually a lot more than his usual counselors do, and Hotch wonders why this small action makes him feel like Jack is in good hands.

“Can I color?” Jack points to the bright markers sitting in a mason jar on the coffee table.

You grab a blank sheet of paper out of one of your drawers and place it on the table. “Of course, Buddy. Maybe you can draw what makes you happy! I’m going to talk to your dad, okay?”

Jack nods, already picking out a red marker.

You sit in your chair and turn to Hotch, Jack’s file now in your hand. “So… he’s had counselling at Reyna’s Center for about, uh, seven months, now?”

“Eight,” Hotch corrects. “He goes every Friday after school.”

“Eight…” You make a correction in your notes and continue to read down. “So is that not working out for him? That’s quite a long rapport to switch up.”

“Agent Jerau recommended you guys,” Hotch says. “Jack’s behavior at night isn’t getting better and she thought you might be able to help.”

“Could you let me know what is abnormal about his behavior?”

“Since my wife’s death…” Hotch licks his lips and wrings his fingers. “He has been having nightmares and wetting the bed. He’ll come and sleep with me sometimes, because that’s what he did right after Haley died. It doesn’t seem to be getting better, and his current counselor is suggesting refusing to let him sleep with me when he asks, but I don’t want to leave him alone if he needs me.”

Hotch realizes he’s talking about himself now, so he shuts up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Your voice is gentle, and you look over to see Jack coloring in the sun. “It’s pretty common, considering what the two of you went through, that you would both fear being alone. My concern is the nightmares. It’s a symptom of PTSD, and I’m afraid he’s reliving the moment over and over. His counselors should’ve been on this a long time ago.”

Hotch feels like he’s been chastised, and he opens his mouth to defend himself, but you beat him to it.

“Does he have anything special he sleeps with?”

“He used to sleep with one of his mom’s t-shirts. His counselor told me to try a few nights without it, but that seems to make him worse.”

You frown. “Yeah, that’s weird. It’s not hurting him, so I don’t know why they told you to do that.”

He leaves with a list of things that oppose Jack’s current counselor’s instructions. It’s a huge change, and Hotch isn’t sure it’s going to work, but he’s willing to take a chance.

-

Your apartment is so lack-luster. You’d think after five years of living here, you would’ve added a poster or two. Truth is, you feel your personality is expressed better in your office than in your home. Other than your well-loved sci-fi novels and your taffeta blankets from the eighties, it’s not exactly home-y.

Still, you try to make it a safe space for your clients. Especially in your line of work, you have a lot of kids and teens struggling to find their way after the death of their parent, or parents.

So your guest room is essentially a hotel room, because you’ve opened your home to a lot of the kids you help out. You’d rather they go to you than get lost on the streets.

It’s quite comfy, with muted blue sheets and a television with Netflix already logged in. There are assorted plushies and a basket of granola bars and chips. There’s also water bottles, and pads, and toothbrushes, and anything else they might need.

It’s only happened once or twice, but each night is another child safe, so it’s worth the effort. As long as you report it to your superiors and get permission from the parents, you let them stay.

You didn’t expect fourteen-year-old Tina Barkley to be at your door when you arrived home from work, but here she is, standing in your living room, and you want to apologize for how stoic it seems.

“I don’t have time to decorate,” you try to excuse yourself, as if you need to prove yourself to the young teen. “How about you go get a shower? I’ll make dinner, and we can talk about everything then.”

The purple-haired girl nods, still not talking, and lets you lead her into the guest bedroom.

As soon as the water starts running, and you have a pizza in the oven, you dial the number of your friend.

“Agent Jareau.”

“It’s me, ___.” You wipe someone tomato sauce off of the counter. “I’ve got Tina Barkley with me. I assume she didn’t tell her dad where she went?”

“Oh, Thank God,” J.J. breathes out. “I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Okay.”

“This is Agent Morgan. Can you bring her in as soon as possible?”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” you say, biting your lip. 

“Excuse me?” Morgan’s voice is deep and intimidating, but you know your client.

You lean your hip bone against the counter. “She has a history of running away. Along with the grief she’s still processing, I think it’d be best to let me keep her for the night. She’s safe, I’ll have a little session with her, and I’ll call you guys tomorrow when she’s ready to be picked up.”

“You sound pretty confident,” It’s Agent Hotchner, you recognize his voice.

“It’s my job to figure out these kids’ next moves,” you say. “She came to me, she wants to talk.”

“Whoever killed her mother is still out there. What she did was dangerous and stupid,” Hotchner finally says. “We’ll have a car pick her up at eight in the morning.”

“Got it,” you say. You’re not sure why he’s so upset. You both work for the FBI, and it’s not like you aren’t trained to keep these kids safe. You work with victims and kids in witness protection. 

When Tina comes out of the shower, ranting and raving about how protective her father has gotten all of a sudden, you listen. You try to keep the harsh voice of the agent out of your mind.

-

“I’m sorry for snapping at you last night. We’re no closer to catching this unsub, and having Tina out of our sight could’ve been fatal.” Hotchner is staring at Tina as she sips coffee with her father in the break room. They’re laughing about something, and it makes your heart clench. You’ve never had that sort of relationship with your dad. Sometimes this job is a painful reminder of that.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I knew you just wanted to keep her safe. She needed a night to breathe. She wasn’t angry or upset, she just felt stifled. When one parent is gone, the other tends to make up for it by becoming overly affectionate. Sometimes that can smother the child. If I forced her back to her dad, she might’ve run away to somewhere dangerous, and then we’d really be in trouble.” 

Hotchner nods. It’s silent for a moment, and then, “Your suggestions worked, by the way. He had one nightmare the other night, but he’s been sleeping in his own bed after I gave him back the t-shirt. I’ve been… Well, this might be weird… but I’ve been taking a hot water bottle and wrapping the shirt around it.”

“That’s a great idea,” You turn to him, voice lifting before you can stop yourself. “Giving him something warm to hold close must bring him a lot of comfort.”

“I hope so,” Hotchner trails off, staring at the family. “You know, I think I‘m ready to make another appointment for Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What a tricky balance of safety and risk it is that brings out the best in us.” — Kaya McLaren


	2. six months later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader wonders how Hotch is doing after all this time, and the team make Hotch accompany them on a night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This is not a love story, but love is in it. That is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.” — Jeanette Winterson

Hotch hasn’t dropped Jack off since the first appointment. It’s always his aunt, Jessica. She’s pretty, with bright eyes and blond curls. You tell her, as usual, that the lesson will be a half-hour long and bring Jack into your office.

He goes straight for the markers, but you need his full attention. “Let’s save the markers for another day, okay? Would you like to hold one of the plushies while we talk?”

“I want to hold the bear,” Jack says, pointing to the bright purple stuffed bear on your shelf. You get it down for him and tuck the markers into your drawer.

“Can I ask you a few questions, Jack?”

He nods. His eyes are big and brown, resembling his father’s, but he must’ve gotten his fair complexion from his mother. Rosy cheeks and blond hair.

You’re worried about his relationship with his dad. As a therapist, it’s your job to pry and make sure this boy is getting enough attention from his remaining parent. You don’t doubt that Agent Hotchner is a good father, but even a good father can be emotionally absent at times. And it’s only been two sessions a month for six months, but Agent Hotchner hasn’t reached out to you aside from emails about Jack’s development. He’s always away on a case, or at his workplace, so you’re afraid he isn’t putting Jack first in his life.

It’s a harsh assumption, but you don’t want to ignore the signs.

“Do you like your dad?”

“Yes,” Jack says.

His simple answer leaves you wanting more, so you try asking more specific things, “What do you like about him?”

“He makes me mac ‘n cheese!” he replies. He fiddles with the stegosaurus’ felt plates and grins at you, eyes blinking and honest.

“Does your dad let you sleep with a nightlight?” 

“I have a Captain America one!” Jack suddenly gets excited. “It glows blue!”

“That’s so cool!” You reply with the utmost enthusiasm. “What about when your dad comes home from work? What do you guys do?”

You can imagine the stoic agent walking directly into his home office and shutting the door on his kid. You imagine Jack’s dejected face as he tucks himself into bed.

Maybe you’re projecting your own childhood into Jack.

“We draw. Sometimes he brings me stuff! And I call Penny.” Jack responds. 

“Miss Penelope?” You know Garcia, because your jobs intersect at times. Especially when you were training for witness protection, the two of you had lunch more times than you could count, bonding over your shared hate for violence and love for cats. 

“Dad lets me call her! And we cook dinner! I’m a good stirrer.” Jack is very serious with his statement, a toothy grin showing when he talks about his dad. 

“I bet you’re a great help to him.” You jot down a few notes, and decide that you still really want to talk to Agent Hotchner. Jack seems to be faring well. Therapy with you has been going on for about a half a year now, and he’s able to sleep in his own bed without so much as a light to keep him safe. He’s progressing at a perfectly normal rate, but you wonder if his father’s inability to move on causes him to stumble, even when he doesn’t realize it.

-

Hotch loosens his tie and checks his watch. It’s only nine, but the unsub has been caught and he’s up to date on all of his reports. Jack is staying with a friend for the night, and he hates coming home to an empty house.

He looks around his office and sighs, realizing there’s nothing he can even pretend to be doing. He grabs his stuff and heads to the bullpen.

Reid, Morgan, Prentiss, and Garcia are all gathered around, talking about some movie they have all recently seen. J.J. is already on her way home to Henry and Rossi is for sure already home, snuggled up with a good book and a glass of wine. 

Hotch isn’t so lucky. 

“Hotch!” Morgan calls. “You coming with us? Drinks are on Reid.”

The resident genius simply shrugs, implying that Morgan is right.

“I don’t know, guys.” Hotch checks his watch again, even though he knows the time. “I’ve got to get home soon. Jack-“

“Is at a sleepover,” Prentiss says, and damn her for knowing his schedule so well. “C’mon, Hotch. You deserve this.”

“Maybe you can meet someone,” Garcia wriggles her brows, giggling.

Hotch tries to look unimpressed, but the goofy faces Garcia makes have him forcing down a smile. “Right,” he says sarcastically. “Exactly what I want right now.”

“Knew it,” Reid quips in his borderline droning tone, causing everyone to burst into laughter. 

Garcia grabs his arm and leads him out, grinning in victory.

-

The bar is loud. The mahogany counters are covered in stains from beer and some unidentifiable liquids. There’s a group of men crowded around the counter, each trying to get a better look at the hockey game playing on television.

You push through them, and are met with the copper eyes of your best friend. “Hey, Inez.” 

The mixologist grins at you and grabs the ingredients for your — rather boring — order. “One spiked lemonade for my love. How was your day?”

You slip onto the cleanest looking stool and sigh. “Pretty good. No new clients today. I might have a visitor this weekend so I have to get ready.”

“Visitor” is code for a client. Whether a foster kid or someone who needs to keep their identity a secret, you are one of the safe houses sanctioned by the FBI, and there is word about relocating a young girl who is in danger.

“Exciting,” Inez says. She slides your glass towards you and leans her elbows on the counter. Her silver locket hangs down off of her neck, stark against the warm tones of her skin. “Any updates on the dating life?”

“As if,” you scoff. “I’ve got too much on my plate right now to bring someone into my life.”

“Maybe it’s your sweaters,” Inez teases, motioning to the pale pink cashmere you have tucked into brown plaid pants. 

You let her attend to more customers and focus on sipping your lemonade. You’re not here to get drunk, you just want something to take the edge off the stress of your week. You’re going to have to email parents and protect an actual living human being, so the pressure is on.

“____?” Your name is called by a voice you haven’t heard in months, and you swivel around to see Agent Hotchner with another agent behind him. Reid, you think is his name.

“Agent Hotchner,” you say, feeling a little awkward. You’re not on the job, so drinking isn’t wrong, but it sure feels like it is. “Nice seeing you here.”

“What can I get you gentlemen?” Inez asks, breaking the staring contest between you and Agent Hotchner. 

“Six beers for table four, please,” Agent Reid says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. 

Inez has a sparkle in her eye that says she likes the agent, even if he is a little younger and endearingly oblivious. “Coming right up, Handsome.”

You snort at Agent Reid’s flustered reaction. He eventually goes back to the table, keeping his head down, but Agent Hotchner stays. You take a sip of your lemonade and gesture for him to sit on the stool beside you.

“Jack is at a sleepover with his friend from school,” he says, furrowing his brows at you.

You study his face. You haven’t seen him in ages, despite the two of you having so many smaller connections. You don’t remember his eyes being such a lovely shade of whiskey brown. Maybe you need to look away. “Well, I didn’t think he was here with you,” you attempt a joke.

Agent Hotchner raises his brows. “I don’t— I don’t want you to think I don’t spend time with him.”

Could he read your mind? He is a profiler, maybe he read between the lines in your emails and assumed you thought the worst of him. “I talked with Jack about you today,” you say.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “It’s been awhile, and you don’t drop him off like, at all. So I wasn’t sure how involved you were with him.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he seems genuine, tucking his bottom lip behind his teeth. “I’m not off of work until late most nights. I had to take off the afternoon I brought him in for the first time.”

“I understand. And I mean, that’s why I ask questions, to see where the kids are at. Jack raved about you once I asked, so I’m sorry for assuming.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it? The kids come first.”

You run your fingers through your hair, and Agent Hotchner’s eyes follow the movement. “You know… I therapize adults, too.”

“Still assuming?” The agent bows his head when he asks, almost ashamed.

“It doesn’t have to be me,” you say. “But I think Jack sees the way you act, and I think he can sense that you’re not really living life the way you used to.”

He’s quiet for a minute. You’re afraid he might be angry, with all the assuming you’re doing, but it’s true. Jack never smiles for too long, and he’s far too polite, like he wants to please everyone. He’s too young to act like that unless he picked it up from someone else. “Maybe you should become a profiler,” he finally says.

“Sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Agent Hotchner looks back at his group, all chattering around their table with the beers Inez must’ve brought them when you weren’t looking. “I can’t join them, you know. I try, but I can’t.”

And you know exactly what he means. He’s on the outside looking in — nearly two years after his wife’s death and he’s right where she left him. He’s a ghost of himself, and if you can see it, so can everyone else. “I know.”

“I’ll email about your offer,” he says. Then he stands up. “Jack loves you, by the way. Talks about you a lot.”

He leaves then, not looking back. You swivel back towards the bar and try to make sense of everything that just transpired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Others find humanity by looking in their own hearts. Only lost souls need to search for it outside themselves.” — Orson Scott Card


End file.
